The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga)

by Gary F. Vanucci

  Rose let him slip a bit more as she knelt, her right arm still maintaining a firm grip on the man’s quiver, bending him backward, and lower still. The strain must have been great on his left leg for after she lowered her center of gravity he had to follow suit. His face was a grimace.

  “Are you certain?” Rose asked him once more, pulling him back and forth slightly to remind him of her superior position.

  “I am!” he yelled. “We work alone, I swear!” Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and face beneath his dark head of hair.

  “Liar,” she said as she stood and spun away from the cliff in one motion, pulling him toward her instead of off the edge of the cliff. In that motion, his back found the waiting tip of Zaedra, one of her twin, magical daggers. The blade was so long that she drove the thing completely and easily through flesh and armor alike, the force of her thrust in conjunction with the man’s momentum causing it to burst forth from his belly.

  “I dislike liars most of all,” she said as she brought a knee up and used it to shove the stunned and dying archer off the cliff. She watched him disappear into the brush, trees and mist below and then ran off back toward the road below, where Elec had stopped to treat a fallen man.

  She hoped she could locate him quickly, for she would certainly lose him soon in the thickening fog.

  Garius retrieved a satchel from amongst his personal belongings and headed back into the cave entrance, away from prying eyes. He immediately went to work methodically, retrieving items from the satchel, one by one. He laid out several candles and trinkets, icons and symbolic talismans of the gods in a very specific order around the area he had marked for the ritual and then lit the candles. The candles, which were different colors, mixed with the phosphorescent moss on the wall, combined to cast a rainbow of colors along the cave walls.

  The blonde-haired young priest watched all of this anxiously as he awaited the ritual’s commencement.

  The Inquisitor bade Thaurion to sit before him, surrounded by some of the trinkets and candles, and he did so, steeling his gaze and banishing the fear within him. He knew he had to do this if there was any hope of finding the cursed phylactery of Sadreth. Garius sat and spread his arms wide.

  “What can you show me Shimmering One? Watcher?” Garius began as he fell into a meditative chant, his eyes closing slowly. “What have your creatures seen, Mistress of The Hunt?” As he spoke these words, the various symbols and runes etched into his pauldrons glowed brightly, albeit briefly, as if in response to his pleas.

  “What of you, Harvester?” Garius continued. “Show me what the forests and the very things of nature can divulge.”

  Thaurion was astonished by the scene. The smell of the incense along with the symbols and lighting began having a hypnotic effect on him. He fell deeper and deeper into his subconscious and suddenly was unaware of anything at all as the chanting and words of the Inquisitor faded into nothingness.

  Elec bent low to inspect the prone human male, closely examining the wound from the pair of bolts that protruded from his arm and back. It appeared to him that as the man presumably fell off the roof of the caravan, the bolt in his arm had been pushed mostly through. He was bleeding profusely from his back, which was the most dangerous of the wounds. The man was barely breathing and Elec withdrew several elixirs from his bandolier and from his pack too, opening a rather wide and deep jar filled with a white substance.

  Elec brushed the hair from his eyes and snapped the bolt in two, pulling the shaft out of the man’s back and immediately covering the injured area with a cloth. He was worried about permanent damage to the man’s back and spine, but had no choice if the man was to survive at all. He poured some alcohol onto the wound and then spread the thick, white substance from that jar over the man’s torn flesh, causing it to cover and harden over the gash as it mixed with the blood. It had been in use for centuries and Elec had become a master at mixing and using this particular life-saving balm.

  He uncorked a liquid in one of his flasks, sat the man upright to guide the liquid down into his belly and poured it down his throat. He then snapped the second bolt in two, pulling the remnants out of his arm carefully, and lathered that same healing balm overtop both the entry and exit wounds. The thick white ointment intermixed with the crimson to form a pinkish seal over the injured areas very quickly, just as it had done on the chest wound. He lay the man down and immediately washed himself and the wounds on the man using a combination of both water and alcohol. He was confident that the mixture of topical and ingested treatments would work in saving the man’s life, as it had done so for him on occasion.

  It was then that he felt something out of place, a tingling in his subconscious, a sense that perhaps he was being watched. He peered around and looked more closely toward the base of the hill to his left. In the swirling mist, he glimpsed a pair of amber eyes penetrating the haze. He focused through it and caught sight of an orc observing him curiously. No, not an orc, he corrected, but half-orc—he was sure to see the signs of human heritage within his features. The half-orc was a gray-skinned sort, strong of build, though his orcish features were somewhat muted. He brandished a shield as well as a strange, ebon-headed axe.

  “Come meet your maker then, elf,” teased the half-orc as he turned and disappeared back into the brush along the hill. Elec uncorked a flask, downed its contents and repeated this action twice more before withdrawing his weapons.

  The half-orc stopped a few steps into the brush and stared hard at the elf, then ran further into the undergrowth, disappearing into the thickets and the mist. Elec ran after him, very quickly at that, as a certain potion began to take effect. He made a mental note to refill his bandolier soon and continued after the half-orc.

  After briefly following the half-orc’s trail, Elec came to a four-way intersection in the path. There was a huge rock, completely smooth and void of any texture, immediately to his left. Before he moved further though, he bent low, catching sight of a well-hidden tripwire. Elec crouched to his knees in an attempt to examine or disable it, but his hands shook unsteadily. He calmed himself and breathed slowly and in measured gasps, attempting to steady them with sheer concentration and force of will. His heart raced as did the blood within his veins and he felt uneasy, powerless to steady his hands.

  What is happening?!

  He was so intent on first the tripwire and then the physical reaction to his elixirs that he did not even notice the approach of the half-orc from behind.

  “Find something of interest?” Elec heard as the half-orc moved closer. Assuming that he was attempting to attack his exposed back, Elec recklessly dove over the tripwire, fearing that the orc would take a swipe at him, and rolled forward into a thorn bush. Diving out of the thorns, he saw that the half-orc remained, unmoving and uninterested in taking advantage of Elec’s misfortune, which now consisted of several thons protruding from his skin and leathers, too.

  “Come on, elf,” the half-orc stated and gestured for Elec to attack him. Elec was more than a bit curious at that as he picked a few more thorns from his leather sleeve.

  “Missed one,” mentioned the half-orc as he pointed toward Elec’s neck. The elf’s hand felt along, located the thorn protruding from the side of his neck and pulled it free, not feeling it. As he drew his hand, the tips of his fingers were stained crimson.

  “What’s wrong with you, elf?”

  Elec shook his head and blinked hard a few times as his vision blurred.

  “I‘m waiting,” the half-orc stated, whipping his axe back and forth, its ebon head complete with double blades. Elec once more readied Wyrm’s Fang while moving around the tripwire toward the stationary half-orc. Elec downed another potion quickly, replacing the empty flask back within the bandolier and readied Daegnar Giruth in his right hand.

  Elec nimbly crossed the distance to the half-orc, who still waited for him to completely clear the tripwire, then launched himself at Elec.

  “Have at it!” the half-orc said as he unlea
shed a simple attack. As Elec danced to his right, the half-orc spun and reversed his weak initial thrust into a wide arcing swipe meant to disembowel him with the huge axe head. Elec’s two weapons crossed each other forming an X, dagger crossing over sword, to catch the axe and halt its progress. They did so only partially, as it looked like the axe continued past their axis, seeming to melt through the structure of Elec’s two magical weapons. Elec was surprised at that, unable to tell if what he saw was real or imagines, and shoved the half-orc back with a thrust. Again, his vision blurred. The half-orc wrinkled his face in confusion.

  “What’s wrong with you, elf?” the half-orc repeated, more forcefully this time.

  “It was some kind of illusion,” Elec concluded in a measured and confident voice. “It was meant to trick me into thinking it was real.”

  “Illusion?” echoed the half-orc.

  “I am very familiar with this kind of treachery, orc.”

  “While I do have orc blood in me, I also bear the blood of a human, too,” he mentioned as if being named an orc was an insult. “And I assure you, there is no trick.” Then he charged at him once more, swinging his shield wide at Elec, followed closely by the ebon axe again. It clipped him on his arm, which was covered top to bottom in chain armor beneath his leather sleeves, but the blade still passed through the armor and scored a deep wound.

  Elec did not even feel the wound, though he bled. He stared blankly at the hole in his sleeve. Another potion began to take effect as he saw the wound begin to close. Elec stood staring at the immobile half-orc, who seemed entertained by Elec’s actions. He checked the wound, and felt the elixir continuing to work, closing the wound.

  “You’re an odd-looking one,” the half-orc declared. “Are you the forest breed? I cannot tell with the dark hair, the white pupils and the height on you. Or maybe you’re one of them half-breeds that has human blood, too?”

  Elec leaped at the half-orc again, this time pressing the offensive, as he felt an intoxicating combination of anger and confidence wash over him. He slammed the sword then the dagger, one after the other, into the half-orc’s defenses, and even spun a kick solidly into him, slamming away his shield for an instant as Elec scored a wound on the half-orc’s midsection.

  The half-orc backed away slightly surprised at the sudden ferocity, and Elec followed him, seeming to grow self-assured in his martial competence. Elec reached for another elixir. As he uncorked it, he immediately became flustered as he recognized that it was empty.

  He silently chastised himself for getting caught up in the conversation with Saeunn instead of continuing with his regular and necessary preparations.

  “We are not finished,” the half-orc said as he swung a mighty axe toward the distracted elf. Elec reacted by limply placing Daegnar Giruth out in a defensive posture, but did not have a firm grip on it as it was sent from his grasp. It went flying away and Elec looked up in astonishment, realizing the weapon was gone. The half-orc, however, stopped his advances after the weapon flew from Elec’s grasp.

  “Pick it up, elf,” the half-orc instructed. Elec did nothing. He was dazed and panicked. He realized that the need for his elixirs to be constantly coursing through his veins was very real. His heart pounded and he looked to where his prized sword, a gift from his uncle, was lying prone, so easily sent from his grasp. Then the mist came on again and he lost sight of it.

  “Pick it up!” Elec heard once more from the half-orc, who stood many paces from him still. After a moment of inaction, he realized that for some reason, his enemy did not press his advantage. The half-orc slowly sheathed his weapon and inspected the newest of the marks adorning his shield.

  “I’m not sure what your issue is, elf, but it seems you are not fit to finish this fight. No honor in killing you this way,” he mumbled. “Maybe sometime soon, when you’re not in such a bad way, we can finish what you started. I owe you and yours for what you did to my men. I don’t have a taste for the easy kill, elf.”

  With that, he ran off and disappeared into the brush as Elec fell to his knees. His vision blurred, and cleared again. He stared up into nothingness as time seemed to stand still.

  Fatigue washed over him and his limbs grew heavy. For a long time, the elf simply could not move. He realized during that time that he needed to adjust his ingredients again. He had a lot of work to do, experimenting on some new combinations.

  He blacked out for some time. He did not know how long he was out, but when he shook his head and finally stood, the sun had hardly moved. He navigated his way through the mist and finally spotted a glint of sun on steel.

  He recovered his sword, replaced it reverently in its scabbard and began frantically to collect some of the plant life and herbs growing in the area, which he needed to recreate his elixirs. He also noted the presence of a rare plant called whitetail that he used in his healing balm. He held a flask in his hands, looked at it and breathed heavily. His hands shook and he downed the contents. He stood quietly again and allowed the quickening potion to take effect.

  After all, if he had to gather plants, he may as well do it quickly, he reasoned.

  As he fell into his work, all thoughts of his friends and his most recent enemy disappeared.

  Jorlin stood outside the doors to Queen Lynessa’s throne room. This was the appointed area within Citadel Pridemoon where she formally greeted out of town guests, and also where she held meetings and trials. He was alone and ashamed of his past shortfall and wished he now that he would have died protecting her. Nevertheless, he clenched his jaw, steeled his resolve, and pondered his fate, hoping this was only a meeting and not a trial as a watchman opened the iron door. It opened inward and two more sentries stood at attention, silent and still, allowing him to enter. He was wearing his full suit of armor, adorned with the tabard of the Norgeld Watch over that armor, as was customary.

  Queen Lynessa sat uneasily upon her throne. As Jorlin approached, guards to her left and right, he noticed the features upon her face and immediately thought her to be sleep-deprived at best. She wore little to no make-up and her clothes were unkempt, as was her hair. She was quite unkempt, which alarmed him even more as to her current state of mind and overall health. He knelt and gave her a proper and polite greeting, bowing his head low. “My lady.”

  He heard shuffling and raised his head. The queen stood within an arm’s length of him.

  “Where…is…my daughter!?” she screamed in a shrill voice that sounded as if it came from Pandemonium’s own denizens rather than this once beautiful and regal woman.

  Jorlin slowly stood and met the queen’s wide stare, then lowered his head to face the ground in shame.

  “I…I do not know, my lady,” admitted Jorlin with all the honesty he could muster.

  Queen Lynessa moved to sit back in her throne and bade Jorlin come closer to her. He ascended the stairs after her and stood close to the throne. It made him uncomfortable to say the least.

  “Please explain in great detail what happened,” the queen commanded with a much calmer demeanor. Jorlin nodded and straightened to his full height, trying to regain his sense of honor as he addressed his queen.

  “Princess Amara instructed me that she wanted to visit Safehold, my lady,” Jorlin began. “She did not inform me of much else. I merely obeyed the instructions of the princess and followed her commands without question as I am bound by an oath that I swore years ago—”

  “I am aware of your oath!” the queen spat angrily, shifting in her chair in obvious frustration. “I do not need you to recite your vows, rather to execute them!” She waited a moment for the man to regain his composure and stared at him, indicating for him to continue.

  “As I said, my lady, the princess gave me instructions to gather a small contingent of men and to prepare a caravan for departure to Safehold immediately,” continued Jorlin in an exasperated voice. “I gathered the men and prepared the caravan as instructed and we left, in the middle of the night, no less.”

  “And thi
s did not strike you as odd?” Lynessa asked him suspiciously.

  “I am sorry, my lady, but mine is not to question the orders of the princess,” Jorlin answered. A long silence ensued as she merely stared at him, seemingly wanting to put a sword through his heart. Her eyes glowered and she had hate in her eyes that was palpable. And then it disappeared again and she gestured for him to continue.

  “I do recall a while back that she went on at length about visions of some kind and that she was connected somehow to the gods…I do not remember which though, and never gave it much thought, for my place is not to question the Princess of Norgeld.”

  “Ever the loyal soldier,” the queen mocked, clearly unhappy with the decisions that were made. “She spoke to me often about having these divine visions and…omens. I dismissed them as the silly notions of a young woman simply having bad dreams,” the queen admitted, then immediately changed the subject. “Let us move on to the details of my daughter’s disappearance, shall we?”

  Jorlin nodded and continued his recount.

  “We traveled uneventfully for the first few weeks, occasionally deterring a pack of wolves or two, continuing through the snow and cold of Winter’s Veil and into Winter’s Bite of the new year, 66 PA. We stopped for nothing at the behest of Amara,” continued Jorlin, gesturing emphatically with his hands to emphasize several points. “It was after we crossed Nature’s Pass, high over the River Divide and past the Amrel Forest somewhere, that we were attacked.”

  “Go on,” commanded Queen Lynessa.

  “We were accosted from the hills on either side of us. Through the strong winds and bitter cold, we did not even realize that we had thoughtlessly wandered into an ambush,” Jorlin continued in shame. He paused a moment, evidently reliving the horrifying events. “They were led by an orc, a green-skin with yellow eyes and tattoos along his right arm and he wore skulls hanging on chains from his belt,” Jorlin had excitement and fear in his voice as he recalled the details of the fierce orc highwayman.